


Rainy Day Confessions

by enviropony



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Huddling For Warmth, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enviropony/pseuds/enviropony
Summary: Merlin’s back to bustling about, unfolding the bedrolls, checking to see what’s dry and what needs hanging. He starts making up a bed near the fireplace.One bed.At Lancelot’s askance look, he shrugs. “It’ll be warmest this way. Gwaine’s clothes are all wet. You don’t want him to freeze, do you?”
Relationships: Gwaine/Lancelot/Merlin (Merlin)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 208
Collections: Holly Poly 2019, favorite Merlin fics (Luciferskitten_Arthursprincess)





	Rainy Day Confessions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impala_Chick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/gifts).



Lancelot is enchanted by magic: the warmth of it, the ethereal glow, the prickle of it against his skin. Most of all, he's enchanted by the expressions on Merlin's face every time he does magic. Sometimes Merlin looks determined, angry, intense. Sometime it's like he's playing chess or solving a puzzle: intent and curious. When he's doing magic just for show, for Lancelot, there is joy, laughter, and love. 

Lancelot is enchanted by magic, but not nearly as much as he's enchanted by Merlin.

He would be, still, if Merlin didn't have magic. Merlin is kind, empathetic and unflinchingly loyal. He works hard and he fights hard, putting every effort into achieving victory.

Even if it’s against a leaky roof.

"You're going to fall, mate!" Gwaine declares, trying to keep up with Merlin's movements across the rafters of their weatherworn shelter. "And I'm not going to catch you." His outstretched arms belie his words. Lancelot tracks Merlin's movements, too, but from his angle he can see the faint flashes of gold in Merlin's eyes, and he knows Merlin will be okay.

"Send up the rest of the straw!" Merlin orders, ignoring Gwaine's protests. He drops a rope down and wiggles it expectantly. Gwaine ties the rope around the last sheaf of straw they’d found in the barn next door, grumbling all the while.

Rain is pouring down in sheets outside. It’s going to be dark soon, so it’s lucky they’d found this abandoned farmhouse, because they won’t be going anywhere until the storm passes.

Merlin’s doing what he can to patch the roof from the inside, stuffing handfuls of straw into all the gaps he can find and sealing them with magic. He doesn’t need the straw, not really, but with Gwaine here with them, Merlin doesn’t have much choice.

While Merlin scuttles around in the rafters, Lancelot tries to coax a hearty meal out of the rations they have. The fire is going well, courtesy of Merlin and a stack of mostly dry wood; they’ll have food and warmth for the night. They’ve already hung their outer clothes to dry, and are working in trousers and shirts – or just trousers, in Gwaine’s case. He’d brought a spare but his pack wasn’t entirely waterproof, so it’s hanging up near the fire as well.

“All done!” Merlin says happily, and scrambles down to the floor. “How’s dinner coming along?” He nudges Lancelot aside with a hip bump, and peers into the pot set over the fire. “Go sit down, I’ll finish it.” 

Lancelot snags his jacket and pulls him away from the pot. “You’re not our servant, Merlin. You go sit down, and I’ll finish the stew.” He turns Merlin and gives him a little push toward the table set in the middle of the room.

Merlin throws a grin over his shoulder. “Fine, fine. Don’t come crying to me when you burn it, though!”

“Merlin, I’m not a noble, I know how to cook.” Lancelot stirs the stew, scraping the spoon over the bottom of the pot to make sure it’s not sticking too badly. “It’ll turn out fine.”

Of course, instead of sitting down to take a break, Merlin starts moving the table aside. Gwaine rolls his eyes and goes to help, so Lancelot is spared the teeth-grinding agony of hearing the table legs scraping against the floor. There’s a brief tug of war about where to move the table _to_ , before a mutual decision that setting it face up against the entry way is the best course of action.

“There, now we don’t have to keep watch,” Merlin says with finality.

“We still have to keep a watch, Merlin,” Lancelot counters. “The table won’t keep anyone out for long, and the window latches aren’t very secure.”

Gwaine waves him down. “Nah, Merlin’s right. We’ll hear it if that table moves. And the windows are plenty secure. We all need a good night’s sleep.”

It had been a quiet few months since Morgause and Morgana’s immortal army had been defeated. They’d been out on a training exercise, Arthur, his Round Table knights and few other recent recruits. And Merlin, of course. The orienteering phase had gone a bit astray, as Lancelot’s party found itself at the correct rendezvous point more or less on time, only to look up at the cliffs above the valley and find Arthur’s group waving at them and making indecipherable hand gestures. Leon’s party was nowhere to be seen. 

Lancelot had eventually gathered that they should all start heading for Camelot separately and would meet up somewhere on the road. Merlin had been jittery to be separated from Arthur for the night – still is, but he isn’t showing it – but Gwaine had taken it as a nice reprieve, and Lancelot, being eager to spend as much time as possible with Merlin, could hardly complain.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Lancelot decides, because he doesn’t need a verbal sparring match with Gwaine right now. 

Merlin’s back to bustling about, unfolding the bedrolls, checking to see what’s dry and what needs hanging. He starts making up a bed near the fireplace. 

One bed.

At Lancelot’s askance look, he shrugs. “It’ll be warmest this way. Gwaine’s clothes are all wet. You don’t want him to freeze, do you?”

Gwaine does seem a bit chilly. “Gwaine, take those damp trousers off and get under the covers once Merlin’s done. You’ll catch your death.”

Gwaine rolls his eyes. “You’re not my mother, Lancelot. Thank the gods.”

“Just do as he says,” Merlin chimes in. “I can see you shivering.” He lays out the last of the dry blankets and pats the makeshift bed invitingly. “Come on, you know you want to. This can’t be our Gwaine, Lancelot, if he’s refusing a chance to lay about doing nothing.”

“Yeah, all right,” Gwaine mutters, and strips off his trousers. He goes to hang them off one of the table legs.

“Too far from the fire,” Lancelot opines.

“You really do sound like Mother, you know?” Gwaine says, ignoring Lancelot’s advice. He hurries back to the center of the room and slides under the covers with a definite shiver. “Ah, thanks, Merlin. This is better.”

Merlin smiles indulgently, then sends a guilty shrug in Lancelot’s direction.

Lancelot sighs, and smiles back, trying to radiate acceptance.

He’s known from the beginning that Merlin is interested in Gwaine. They’ve discussed it on numerous occasions. Lancelot can hardly fault Merlin for being attracted to someone else, considering his own feelings for Guinevere. It stings a little, but he’ll never begrudge Merlin his happiness. He’s only worried that Gwaine, who’s a lot smarter than he lets on, will find out about the magic. No telling what might happen then. 

\- - -

Merlin and Lancelot are thick as thieves. Gwaine is jealousy, and a little insulted, because he was a thief in a past, not-so-distant life. Why doesn't he get to huddle in shadowed alcoves and discuss or dissect their latest caper? Even now, in a one-room farm house, with no alcoves to skulk in, they still throw each other knowing glances, as if they’re up to something. What secrets do they need to keep, so far away from the citadel?

Or maybe this is just what lovers are like? Gwaine doesn’t know. He’s never had a lover who lasted long enough to build that sort of rapport with. 

He curls up under the blankets, missing his nice straw tick mattress from Camelot, and watches Merlin and Lancelot interact. 

Merlin is all sly glances and gentle touches. He moves in and out of Lancelot’s space as if he owns it, and knows he’s welcome. Lancelot is indulgent, worried and watchful, a mother hen if there ever was one. There’s a hint of melancholy about him, too, but Gwaine can’t really fathom why. Would he rather have Guinevere than Merlin? Is he settling for second best? Gwaine doesn’t think so, because Lancelot’s obviously devoted to Merlin.

Maybe it’s because Merlin’s equally devoted not to Lancelot, but to Arthur.

Gwaine’s stopped shivering by the time dinner is done, and the house has warmed up nicely, so it’s no chore to sit up and take a bowl of stew from Merlin.

They eat mostly in silence, exhausted from the slog through the woods and the mad, failed rush to beat the rain.

“I should check on the horses,” Merlin says as he sets his bowl aside. He doesn’t sound too enthused about the idea.

“They’re fine,” Gwaine says. “We tucked them in real nice. Don’t go getting soaked for no reason.”

Lancelot nods in agreement, and Merlin acquiesces with a rueful grin. Instead he gets up and starts pulling ashes from the edge of the fire so he can scrub their dinner dishes clean.

“Don’t you know how to take a break, Merlin?” Gwaine asks when Merlin comes over to take his empty bowl.

“Not anymore,” Merlin says, shrugging. “Not for years. Even when I was a boy, there was work to do every day. _We_ didn’t have servants. Anyway, Lancelot cooked, it’s only fair that I clean. Unless you’re offering?”

“Oh, no, I’m still cold!” Gwaine says, pulling the blankets up to his chest. “Brrr.”

“Uh-huh.” Merlin gives him a grin and takes his bowl to the fire, exchanging another glance with Lancelot.

Gwaine takes a drink from his water skin, then settles back down, listening to the sounds of Merlin and Lancelot tidying up. It’s peaceful, and homey; he really could get used to this, in a way he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to the drafty rooms and halls of Camelot’s citadel. It’s all so impersonal there, a different servant every week, a squire who eyes him with contempt because of his supposedly peasant upbringing, no welcome except from those who’d sat at the Round Table on the eve of the attempt to retake Camelot. 

For all the Gwaine professes to be a loner and a vagabond, he wants friends, and he wants a cozy place to come home to every night. 

Watching Merlin gets undressed for bed, Gwaine remembers how much he wants him, too.

\- - -

The promised argument about whether or not to keep a watch doesn’t materialize. Merlin puts up a few wards while he’s scrubbing the dinner bowls and the pot, and lets Lancelot know that there’s no reason for any of them to stay up. Lancelot ruffles his hair affectionately and lets it go.

Merlin can feel two sets of eyes on him as he pulls his shirt off and hangs it off the back of a chair. He can feel Lancelot’s skeptical gaze as he takes off his trousers; he’d be warmer if he kept his clothes on.

He wants to see if this thing he has for Gwaine is reciprocated, though, and what better chance will he have? 

Gwaine scoots over so that he’s lying off to one side, and Lance gestures Merlin to take the middle. Merlin gives him a cheeky grin, eyebrows raised in question, because Lancelot’s taken his clothes off, too. All three of them in only smallclothes, in a damp cabin that will surely get drafty as the heat from the banked fire dissipates… he hopes it will end exactly as he wants it to.

Gwaine squeaks at the press of Merlin’s foot to his. “Cold! How are you so cold?”

“’m not that cold,” Merlin protests, shamelessly pressing closer. On his other side, Lancelot slips in and drapes himself over Merlin’s back.

“I hope neither of you snore,” Gwaine says, not moving away from Merlin. Flat on his back, he watches them both out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Gwaine,” Merlin says, then pauses. Now that the moment’s here, he’s not really sure how to go about it. “Gwaine. Do you… Are you…?” He trails off, suddenly thinking that this was a bad idea.

Lancelot, brave and noble, takes up the charge. “What Merlin’s trying to say,” he explains, pressing a kiss below Merlin’s ear, making him shiver, “is that he likes you. He really, really likes you. I can’t quite fathom why, but there it is. So he’d like to know, would you be interested in a bit of fun tonight?”

Gwaine frowns, eyes darting from Merlin to Lancelot. “A bit of fun?”

“And, uh, maybe not just tonight,” Merlin says, mouth dry. “Gods, look, I’m sorry, I’m really bad at this, but I think you’re attractive and funny and brave and loyal and I really do like you, and Lancelot says he’s not opposed, so maybe we could, you know, be together? All three of us?”

He can feel his pulse racing as he stops speaking. Lancelot puts one warm, broad hand across both of his shaking ones, pulling them in to Merlin’s chest. Merlin watches Gwaine’s brow furrow, either in confusion or in annoyance, he can’t tell which.

“You don’t actually expect me to believe that Lancelot’s okay with the two of us having a romp in the, er, bedroll, do you? He doesn’t seem the type.” He’s watching Lancelot, not Merlin, by the time he stops talking, and it’s Lancelot who answers.

“It’s no secret that part of my heart lives with Guinevere,” he says, “and we all know how deeply Merlin loves Arthur. But I know he loves me, too. I have no doubt that his heart is big enough for all of us, and I want to see him happy. And,” he chuckles, brushes his nose against Merlin’s jaw, “you clean up well enough. It wouldn’t exactly be a hardship to indulge him in this.”

He’s sincere, Merlin can tell, and it’s a little surprising, because they’d talked about it enough, but they’d also talked around it. Merlin had made his move with the belief that Lancelot was supportive, but not interested, per se. Knowing that this won’t be a burden on Lance makes most of his nervousness vanish. He catches Gwaine’s eye, awaiting an answer, but Gwaine still seems unsure.

“Secrets,” Gwaine says. “You two keep a lot of them.” He looks wistful. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m not actually sure I want to do anything with two people who can shut me out so effectively. You two talk with your eyes, did you know that? Whole conversations; it’s pretty impressive. I’m tired of being the odd one out.”

Merlin draws back at that, seeking Lancelot’s warmth and solid presence. He honestly hadn’t thought Gwaine would notice, let alone mind. “I…” He’s usually full of words, to deflect or lie or offer platitudes, but this time he doesn’t know what to say.

Lancelot rescues him once more. “Merlin’s secret could cost him his life. Is that a burden you’re willing to carry? You don’t exactly know when to keep silent, Gwaine. One wrong word…”

Gwaine sighs and turns on his side, so he’s looking them both in the face. “Well, now you’ve put me in a pickle. How do I say that I already know without giving it away and proving you right?” 

“He’s got a good point,” Merlin whispers. He can’t raise his voice any more than that; he’s terrified. What if Gwaine really does know?

“And tell me this,” Gwaine continues. “Why do you always look so miserable, Lancelot? Are you sure you’re all right with what Merlin wants?”

Lancelot’s laugh rumbles in his chest, a pleasant buzz against Merlin’s back. “I didn’t know you cared, Gwaine. Do you really want to know?” He squeezes Merlin’s hands reassuringly. “I worry about Merlin. I worry that I can’t protect him, that he’ll be left hurt and disappointed, or worse. I love him and I want him to be happy. It saddens me that I can’t guarantee that.”

Merlin has to turn around at that, to see the sincerity in Lancelot’s eyes, to kiss him in gratitude. To know he’s loved like this, it’s overwhelming.

Gwaine is silent until Lance and Merlin part. Merlin turns back to see him looking rather sad, himself. “See, that’s very sweet, but you’ve left me behind not a moment after propositioning me. You could give a man a complex.” His tone aims at jovial, but doesn’t quite get there.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, feeling his way through the crevasse of feelings he seems to have opened up. “I really do care for you, Gwaine. I’d like to get to know you better, in every sense. I’d like to be close to you. I’d like to… I’d like to share my secret, but it’s nothing light. And I shouldn’t have assumed that you’d be interested. You seem like you are, but I’ve never come out and asked, and I should have.”

“Oh, I’m interested, Merlin,” Gwaine says, pulling one arm out from under the covers to run down the length of Merlin’s nose, an oddly intimate gesture. “I am. But you’re not the only one afraid of getting hurt, hmm?” He grimaces, that odd expression he has that’s between smiling and painful. “I don’t…” He trails off, and doesn’t finish.

Merlin takes a breath, feels his heart start to race. Lancelot must feel it to, because he tightens his hold on Merlin, pulls him closer. “Merlin,” he murmurs, a note of warning in his voice, like he knows what Merlin’s about to do.

“Magic,” Merlin whispers. “That’s my secret. Magic.” He can feel himself shaking, despite how tightly Lancelot holds him.

Gwaine’s eyes light up light he’s been given a present. He cups Merlin’s cheek, so very gently. “It’s okay, Merlin. Thank you.” He gives a rueful grin. “How much would you hate me if I told you I already knew?”

“What?” Merlin can’t help the squeak that escapes him. Behind him, Lancelot seems torn between a growl and a laugh, if the rumble in his chest is anything to go by.

“Plates don’t fly on their own, Merlin,” Gwaine says, rubbing his thumb along Merlin’s cheekbone. “And that stupid little guy on the bridge who turned my sword into a flower. He said something about strength and magic. That sword was never the same again, you know. I had to get a new one!”

Merlin feels a laugh bubbling, and lets it out. Gwaine’s hand drifts down to his lips. 

“See, it’s okay, Merlin. It really is. And I do like you, and I am interested, so can I kiss you now? Then we can talk about how much of Lance I get access to.”

Merlin laughs again, louder this time, and free as birds.

-end-


End file.
